


I'll Be There For You

by watchthequeenconquer



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Beating, Ben calls him on his bullshit, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Caretaking, Concussions, Diego doesn't know, Fainting, Hallucinations, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus is just being a "good brother", M/M, Pre-Relationship, Punching, Slurs, The worst day at work in history, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 20:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18668203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchthequeenconquer/pseuds/watchthequeenconquer
Summary: No one told Diego life was going to be this way. After the day from hell, Klaus arrives just in time to pick up the pieces.AKA the Friends Theme song story that no one asked for





	I'll Be There For You

**Author's Note:**

> Basically what it says on the tin! Warning for one racial slur. Hope you enjoy x

“You need to wake up, my darling.”

Diego hums contentedly, eyes still closed. His head is still swimming in the pleasant place between sleep and consciousness. He can tell without being awake that he’s safely secure in his childhood bedroom, can smell the floral scent of his mother’s perfume, feel her cool hand petting his hair gently as she attempts to rouse him.

“Five more minutes, Mom…” He protests quietly, nose scrunching as he curls into the barest hint of warmth provided by his thin blankets, willing the moment to last.

“Open your eyes, dear. You’re late!” His mother presses.

“Huh?” Diego grunts to himself, confusion slowly bring him to his senses.

Late for what? Even if there was a mission to speak of, he’d left the Academy years ago. Besides, what was he doing in his childhood bed as a thirty-year-old man?

“Shit.” Diego groans as he finally drags his eyes open.

The first sensation that registers when he brings himself into focus isn’t the gentle touch of the only woman who’s ever truly cared about him (and if that isn’t a harsh but accurate reflection on his love life, then what is?), but his entire body throbbing with pain. He closes his eyes for a second against the harshness of the morning light, bracing himself before gingerly sitting upright.

His feet plant on the cold, concrete floor of the boiler room that he calls home. His hands roam gently over his body as he tries to get his bearings, still dressed in complete kit from the night before.

He vaguely recalls crashing a crime in progress that he’d caught wind of on his eBay-bought police scanner. Assessing the situation at the mouth of the alley, Diego had been smugly patting himself on the back for beating the police to the scene when he was ambushed from behind by one of the flunkies. He managed to fight off the first assailant, but the blindsiding pipe to the back of the head from the second had left him well and truly outmatched.

“Smooth.” He grunts to himself as he runs a hand over the tender bump on the back of his head, wincing to himself at the still present taste of copper in his mouth, before lightly running his thumb over his fat lip. 

As he lay on the ground doing his best to absorb the blows and protect his vital organs, the dispatch unit had shown up. The approaching sirens had been enough to disperse the criminals, who made sure to strip him of everything worthwhile on his person (one of his newest knives, his latest fake police badge and most irritatingly his scanner).

He definitely must’ve been more hurt than he’d anticipated, because he had barely managed to scrape his face off the pavement and drag himself onto all fours to make his escape when a boot between the shoulder blades forced him back into the ground with a forceful thud.

“Officer, thank you for saving me from those thugs…” Diego had begun in his best scared civilian tone, head spinning.

The boot had lifted from his person and he was able to flip himself over onto his back just in time for his barely formulated cover story to die on his lips.

“Eudora.” He managed to get out before the flat of her boot advanced to press into the column of his exposed throat.

“What the hell, Diego?” Patch cried in exasperation, hands on her hips as she intensified the hold, lightly crushing his wind pipe.

“Pleasure as always, but could you let me up? The bad guys are getting away.” Diego choked out, fighting to breath and speak at the same time.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.” Patch promised savagely, her expression thunderous. She released his throat just as he began to visibly gasp for air, gulping in the air gratefully, “What did I tell you about messing with my crime scenes?”

Diego remembers taking longer to respond than he thought, because she’s suddenly on her knees holding his chin in her hand tightly when he finally refocuses on her expectant, if concerned, face. Remembered thinking that goddamn, she was pretty when she’s mad…

“What did you just say to me?” She barked and even in hindsight, Diego still doesn’t remember being stupid enough to blurt that out loud. 

“W-what wassss the…q-questionnn…?”

The appearance of his stutter had barely a blip on the radar of his consciousness in his more than compromised state, but he recalled slurring his words and his vision blurring and wondering vaguely just how many kicks to the head he had actually taken?

“Crime scene?” Eudora had repeated in confusion, frowning back at him, shifting his face slightly from side to side in his hands while keeping her dark brown eyes trained on his. It would almost be a touching moment if he didn’t recognise it for what it was, observing him for signs of head trauma.

“Doesn’t count…crime in…progress…” Diego remembers saying before everything went black.

Face flushing with a blush that spreads from the scar in his hairline all the way down to his chest, Diego can’t recall anything in between the final moment on the floor of the alley and waking up fully clothed in his bed.

“Just kill me, whoever’s listening?” He groans to himself, the noise intensifying when he drops his sore head too hard into his hands in frustration.

So not only had he fucked up spectacularly in letting those criminals escape and nearly getting his ass handed to him, but he did it all in front of Eudora Patch, the whip-smart, devastatingly beautiful Detective that Diego had been trying and failing to get with ever since he was finally kicked out of the Police Academy.

The same goddess of a woman who not only had to save him from his attackers and didn’t throw his ass in a cell after repeatedly warning him of the consequence of playing vigilante, but now knows he lives in complete and utter banality after dragging his unconscious ass back here to sleep it off in his prison cot of a bed.

A night in the slammer would’ve been preferable to this humiliation. At least he could’ve saved some face by breaking out and charming her when she found him sitting at her desk with her favourite coffee…

“You’re late darling, you need to hurry!” His mother’s voice whispers urgently in his head as he snaps out of his reverie.

Shit, he really is fucked up.

What is he late for again?

“Hargreeves!” A familiar voice calls in irritation, banging on his door.

WORK. He’s late for work!

“Coming!” Diego yells back, bolting upright with a shout of pain, doubling over to clutch at his ribs. He furiously blinks back tears as he pushes through the sharp pain in his middle as he shucks off his boots and make as quick work as he can of night uniform, grabbing the nearest dirty wife beat and sweats and slipping on his shoes without bothering to tie them.

“If you aren’t mopping these floors in five minutes, you’re out, Diego! I’m not kidding around.” Al the gym manager grumbles as Diego launches himself through the tiny kitchen area.

“Sorry Al, I’m on it!” Diego calls back, grimacing when he hears the gym manager retreat, grumbling as he goes.

The sound of his stomach growling suddenly drowns out any other concerns he might have, filling his quiet apartment. When did he last eat exactly? Yesterday? The day before?

Diego stops in his tracks and quickly throws open the door of his fridge to survey it’s contents. It’s predictably empty aside from the milk that he’s sure has expired days ago, but his dark eyes light up when he sees one egg left in the battered cardboard container.

“Thank god.” He whispers with almost reverently appreciation as he grabs the box. The rest of his day is definitely going to be a shit show, but at least he has this…

“Fuck…!”

In his haste to close the fridge door and get onto the gym floor, Diego treads on his own untied shoe lace with uncharacteristic clumsiness and stumbles backwards. As his hands shoot out to stabilise himself, he up ends the container onto the floor. The heartbreaking crunch as the contents hit the floor dash any hopes of salvaging his last chance at breakfast like the delicate white shell that shatters on impact, spraying egg over the floor and his shoes.

Diego doesn’t even have time to mourn the loss before Al’s shouting sends him careening out the door with as much speed as he can manage in his injured state.

“You look like shit. Even worse than usual.” Al says in way of greeting, wandering over to lean on the wall nearby as Diego bends slowly to drag his cleaning supplies out of the closet. Despite the blaring red numbers on the clock letting Diego know that the gym opened two hours ago, there’s only a couple of members milling around the training area and no one in the ring yet. 

“Thanks, boss.” Diego responds evenly, keeping his head down and depositing dishwashing liquid into the bucket he is filling. He’s glad he disinfected the floors properly before heading out yesterday because he doesn’t think he could handle the fumes today.

“You been fighting bareknuckle again, Hargreeves?” Al asks inquisitorially, chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares down at Diego intently. 

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Diego answers, straightening as naturally as he can manages as he moves with his back to the gym owner to grab his mop. He hasn’t got a good look at the extent of his injuries from last night, but he’s praying to whatever cruel omnipotent being has chosen to forsaken his fucking existence today that the marks aren’t visible.

“The shiner you got there is a bit of a giveaway. Lemme take a look at you, ay?” Al continues as Diego turns with a sigh to face him. His jaw ticks as he allows the old man to give him the once over, biting down on his irritation at the bemused light in his eyes.

“You going to answer me honestly now?” Al asks again.

“Yes, sir.” Diego affirms with gritted teeth. He’s pissed at himself for exposing himself like this. It’s fine when he’s been fighting for the promotion to display a few war wounds, but he hasn’t been on the card for the last couple of fight nights, too consumed with his secret night job.

Al doesn’t pry but on the rare occasion that Diego has come out of his night activities worse for wear, he’s let him know in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t condone it and if it begins to impact Diego’s work then he’ll be back out on the street in two seconds flat. So Diego always tries to protect his face and always shows up on time for his shifts…before today.

“You been fighting for another promotion?” Al asks shrewdly.

“No, sir.” Diego replies, biting back the urge to defend himself. He wants to say that he’d only fight for the old man and in the case of organised combat, it’s the truth. Instead, he busies himself with dipping the mop into the bucket of water and stirring the contents so violently that soap spills over the lip.

“I’m not done with you yet, Diego. Couldn’t even show up on time and now you can’t spare a second to get chewed out by an old man?” Al snipes at him in irritation. Gripping the wooden handle tight enough to snap it, Diego drops the mop sharply before giving the older man his full attention.

“Lay it on me, pops.” Diego bites back, unable to help himself when the insult falls from his lips. His head is beginning to ache again along with the rest of his fucked-up body and he just wants this to be over with. If he’s out, he’s out, but stop with the interrogation already!

“So, you’re out there causing trouble, huh? And don’t tell me that it finds you like you’re some kind of hero or I’ll even up those panda eyes for you, eh?” Al threats lightly, moving in closer as he speaks.

Without a convincing response and trying to breathe through the sudden spike of anger constricting in his chest, Diego pauses before he responds.

“It won’t happen again.” He manages finally.

“We both know it will, don’t make promises you can’t keep!” Al laughs, slapping Diego on the shoulder warmly, “You’ve got the mongrel in you, son… knew it the moment that I laid eyes on you. Can see it now…bet you’d love to put hands on me, ha!”

Diego seethes quietly but forces his face to relax, allows the old man to pat his shoulder one more time before dropping it. He knows that his employer and landlord only means well, but if he wanted a father, he would’ve stayed with the tyrannical piece of shit that had taught him how to spar in the first place.

“You’re a helluva fighter Hargreeves. Much as I’d hate to see that wasted on a police conviction, or worse with you bleeding out in the street, what you do in your own time ain’t my concern. This business is, so next time I find out you’ve been scrapping outside of my ring and you show up late, we’re going to have real problems, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” Diego nods sharply, offering his best attempt at a grateful smile that probably comes off as a pained smirk when Al nods in mutual understanding having put the hard line on the younger man. 

“Good chat. You missed a spot.” Al calls over his shoulder as he walks back towards the ring where two young fighters have raised their gloves to engage.

Diego sighs quietly in relief and gets back to his floors, concentrating hard even as his head throbs to ensure the job he does is twice as efficient and thorough as possible. His job and built-in living situation offer him the privacy he needs to keep making a difference through his real work, so as much as he’d love to take the broom handle and shove it up Al’s wrinkled white backside on days like today, he really needs this place so he shuts up and get’s on with it.

Being on his feet all day does nothing to alleviate the uncounted injuries he’s accumulated the night before, but he goes about his duties without complaint, finishing the floors before moving onto the toilets and the showers. By the time he’s done it’s well into the early evening, his back and ribs are aching and his brain feels like it’s literally been bounced off the wall. 

He’s just in the process of packing up his cleaning supplies, when Al calls to him from inside the ring housing his latest protégé.

“Hargreeves, come here a second!”

“Here we go.” Diego rolls his eyes before jogging over to the ring as quickly as he can manage.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Lindemann’s sparring partner has bowed out and he’s coming into fight week. Would you mind stepping in?” Al asks from his spot leaning casually on the ropes as the heavyweight beside him shadow boxes in the other direction, not even bothering to face him.

Diego pauses for a second, willing an excuse formulate on his too tired tongue. The man child is an arrogant asshole with a resemblance to Luther that is just striking enough to makes Diego want to beat him within an inch of his life every time he’s forced to breath the same air as him.

On top of this, Lindemann’s basically doubled his size in the last six months since he decided to move up to heavy weight and Diego knows he’s shot up to the gills on roids even though he’s passed every drug test with flying colours. Him and Diego haven’t crossed paths properly yet. Despite their size difference, Diego is more concerned that he is going to end more than just the man’s winning streak when he finally gets his hands on him. 

“Coach, are you sure that the janitor’s going to be up for it? He looks kinda worse for wear.” Lindemann intones, looking smugly down his nose at Diego.

“You’re about to find out, man tits!” Diego snaps back, slipping between the ropes and shaping up immediately as Al throws him a pair of gloves. He does owe Al, after all.  
Considering the day that Diego has had, the impromptu sparing match goes as well as can be expected.

In the opening round, Lindemann spends as much time throwing unnecessary haymakers as he does shielding himself from Diego’s body shots in the clinch.

In the second, Diego finally gets enough distance to begin trading proper blows, peppering him with jabs as he slips in and out of the bigger man’s overarching reach. Already gassed from exhaustion and well and truly feeling the toll from the previous evening, it only takes one stray clip in the face to have Diego losing any semblance of composure.

Choosing the perfect moment to slide within striking distance when Lindemann overextends again, Diego lands a solid hit straight down the line that leaves his opponent reeling, howling in pain as he tries to hold whatever remains of the bloody mess of his nose together.

Al calls the fight straight away, stepping in between them and alternating between checking on his prized fighter and yelling at Diego for being too rough. Taking the hint, Diego turns to leave the ring. In his rage, the hulking mass either doesn’t hear that the fight is over or chooses to ignore it as he gets around Al to sucker punch Diego in the back of the head just as he leans down to step through the ropes.

“What the hell, man!” Diego shouts incredulously.

The unexpected force of the shot is shocking enough that Diego literally feels his brain rattle against his skull as he catches himself on the ropes. With all the rules well and truly out the window, he turns instinctually to re-enter the fray when Lindemann smacks him again in the forehead.

Diego has barely had the time to lash out in retaliation when Al gets both arms around the huge man’s waist and drags him to the opposite side of squared circle.

“I called time, Lindemann, stop!” Al shouts, face livid with anger and frustration as he drags the heavyweight out of harm’s reach.

“You’re dead, you filthy spick!” Lindemann screams hysterically as Diego stands upright, eyes bulging in anger as the use of the derogatory term.

“Diego, out now, please!” Al calls desperately and it would almost be funny that the giant allows himself to be boxed into the corner by an old man twice his age and half his size if Diego weren’t seeing red.

Against his better judgement, Diego spits on the floor at his feet and drops back between the ropes, exiting the gym before he decides to do something rash, like decapitate the big thug with his bare hands.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his hand as he walks down the hall to his room, pausing for a second when his head spins. Stumbling to a halt at the front of the entry way, Diego’s heart drops when he realises that he must’ve left the door open. He curses his less than tactile approach, as the silencing of the rustling within confirms that his presence has been detected.

“Don’t stab me!” A familiar voice shrieks dramatically and if he had a weapon on him, Diego would’ve thrown it out of sheer frustration.

“Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse…” Diego groans as he enters to find his brother looking ready to bolt, the hello, goodbye tattoos on his hands visible as his open palms are raised in supplication.

“That’s no way to welcome your brother, Diego, dear!” Klaus waves with a shaky laugh.

“You’re completely right. Klaus, what are you doing in my apartment?” Diego asks bluntly, jogging lightly down the steps and landing with a wince. He straightens and steps towards his skittish looking brother, folds his arms across his chest in a bid to look as intimidating as possible, ready to get this over with.

When things in his life are going poorly (and isn’t today a shining example), Klaus tends to materialise like the unwelcome ghosts he spends so much time escaping through whatever he can drink, snort or shoot.

While Diego is generally tolerant of his visits (even when they normally end with Klaus swiping something he can hock for his substance of the month or Diego dragging him back to whatever rehab facility he’s broken out of), all he wants to do right now is curl up in the foetal position and sleep for a thousand years.

“Earth to Diego!”

“W-what?” Diego starts when Klaus is suddenly all up in his space, waving his hands manically in front of his face. His lack of respect for personal space aside, he’s again lucky that Diego was too distracted to plant a knife on his person this morning.

“I SAID that the door was open, duh! Why does nobody ever listen to me?” Klaus asks no one in particular with a loud sigh, stepping back to flop into a chair at Diego’s table before kicking his filthy sneakers up on the surface.

“Uh-huh. Why are you really here?” Diego replies, tone thick with scepticism as he sits down heavily on his bed and bends down to remove his shoes. He has to catch himself from falling forward when his head spins at the downward movement. Shit. He focuses on his breathing for a second, swallowing down the bile that suddenly shoots up his throat from out of nowhere.

“Can’t I just pop in to see how my brother’s doing?” Klaus counteracts, answering a question with a question and Diego snorts in spite of himself.

“Okay I’ll bite. How’s rehab?” Diego manages, lifting his head upright to give Klaus the once over. He’s surprised to see that despite his shakiness, Klaus doesn’t seem to be high or intoxicated right now. Despite his skittish manner, his cheeks are flushed with colour, his pupils are normal sized and he doesn’t seem to be exhibiting any of the usual signs that he’s jonesing for a fix.

“Thirty days clean.” Klaus grins as he rummages in the pockets of his oversized shaggy coat and flicks the red chip in Diego’s direction, “Do you think I’ll get much for this at the pawn shop?” 

“Ha.” Diego manages dryly, reaching a hand out for the chip and missing it entirely as his vision blurs on him suddenly. The sound of the chip bouncing off the concrete for reverberates in his head like a lightening crack and suddenly the lights in the room are too bright as he drops his head wordlessly into his hands. 

“Yeah…the program says you should check in with loved ones, let them know how you’re progressing and, you know, get an update on their…status…” Klaus trails off, concern evident in his voice as Diego struggles to lift his head, “Those lightning sharp reflexes of yours aren’t looking so crash hot there, Diego.”

“My brother Klaus, always honest, even at the risk of losing a limb.” Diego mutters testily, flexing his fingers around his skull. His forehead feels too warm and wet all of sudden but he doesn’t have the strength to lift it from the safe cradle of his hands.

“Were you in a fight?” Klaus asks, feet dropping from the table as he moves to lean closer, elbows balancing on his leather clad knees as he leans forward.

“What makes you say that?” Diego replies. He just needs to keep up a tough enough front to yell at Klaus to get him out of here, make it look convincing enough that he stays gone long enough for Diego to crawl underneath his covers and sleep away this hellish day.

“You’re bleeding. A lot.” Klaus observes. When Diego drops his hands, his vision is further impaired by the blood dripping down from his forehead in a steady stream.

“Oh, shit.” Diego murmurs, minimising the stress on his already exhausted body by grabbing blindly for a filthy rag from beside his bed to press into the cut to stem the flow. He closes his eyes for a second and ignores Klaus’ hiss of disapproval – the guy is literally homeless, like he can judge!

“What happened?” Klaus’ voice has always been irritatingly melodic, and in the chaotic circumstances, Diego finds himself clinging to his soothing tone. He’s feeling increasingly light headed and he keeps his eyes shut as he fights against the internal merry-go-round that’s going on inside his skull, trying and failing to follow Klaus’ animated movements around the room.

“Just sparring, nothing serious.” Diego fails to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

What is Klaus doing here and why is getting involved when all Diego wants is to be left alone? 

He bites the inside of his lip as he feels irritation surge strongly through his body, clenching his fists as he waits for the misplaced feelings to subside. Reminds himself sharply that this is all part of the post-fight come down process, controlling the sudden adrenaline dump before exhaustion hits. 

“Have you heard of protective head gear? I haven’t engaged in combat sports since the good old Academy days, but Ben tells me it’s totally a thing in amateur matches…wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face, would we?” Klaus is suddenly close again, the faint smell of sweat and weed and that bittersweet tangy bite that has always been so uniquely Klaus perfuming the air and suddenly distractingly overwhelming Diego’s senses.

“I’m f – FUCK!” Diego hisses when he feels something damp press into his forehead and it explodes sharply with pain. He moves to shoot backwards away from the sensation, but Klaus has found the time to wrap the back of his hand around Diego’s head, cupping it gently but firmly.

“There you go,” Klaus coos, “Just hold that there for a second...”

“What did you do?” Diego huffs, disobediently pulling the item from his forehead to inspect it. In the brief second that Klaus lets him view it before forcing it back onto his person as considerately as possible while being completely unreasonable, he notes it’s definitely cleaner than what he was previously clogging the wound with.

“Disinfectant.” Klaus hums as he takes a swig of the bottle of vodka that has suddenly materialised into his hand, “I knew this would come in handy!”

“Unbelievable.” Diego mutters, proud of himself for managing a one-word response without stuttering. His head is getting alarmingly woozy and he unconsciously leans into the press of Klaus’ hand, feeling himself going increasingly limp despite wanting badly to remain visibly pissed at him for breaking his sobriety, yet again.

“At least I’m working on addressing my addictions, well kinda.” Klaus scoffs. Diego winces as his hand accidentally presses into the bump in the back of his head from last night’s beating as he tries to support his head. 

“Watch it!” Diego whines, unable to keep the high-pitch out of his voice as his head begins pounding in double time, eyes squeezing shut as Klaus relieves his hold on the back of his head immediately.

“How many shots did you take, exactly?” Klaus presses, voice strangely even.

“Not today. That one’s from last night…” Diego corrects huffily, eyes slipping shut again. He frowns and tries to brush it off when he feels Klaus lightly tapping at his cheek, soft but insistent enough to keep him from drifting. 

“Where else does it hurt?” Klaus continues too softly, removing the cloth from Diego’s forehead to inspect the wound.

“The asshole I was sparring with sucker punched me after I won in the back, the next shot must’ve opened up the cut.” Diego rambles to his own horror, unable to shut himself up as the words pour out of him, “Last night…took a pipe to the back of the head…”

“Christ on a cracker!” Klaus exhales sympathetically, putting the cloth down to soak it in vodka again and clean off the last of the drying blood there.

“Hard to keep tally after that…when Eudora found me, it was four on one…”

“Bless the Lady Cop,” Klaus muses with almost grateful fondness, before concentrating again on keeping the conversation going, “Sounds like you got yourself in a bit of a situation there…”

“Yeah…lost my scanner too…don’t tell Eudora …she’s already pissed at me for…messing up…” Diego mumbles as his eyelashes flutter. His eyes are so heavy, if Klaus would just let him lie down, he’d feel so much better.

“Your secret’s safe with me...do you have anything I can ice that black eye with?”

Diego shakes his head numbly, allows Klaus to manoeuvre him so he’s propped up loosely against the wall. His eyes fall shut again as he listens to Klaus cross the apartment, open his fridge door and close it with a frustrated grunt. He smirks to himself a little when he hears Klaus exclaim as he skids across the floor - he must’ve found the remains of his last meal.

“The ice tray isn’t even full, you savage!” Klaus tuts fussily. When a response isn’t forth coming, Diego starts when Klaus shakes his shoulder lightly.

“Stay with me, big boy. Does the gym manager have a first aid kit?”

“NO!” Diego jolts upright in his insistence against that particular course of action and regrets it immediately, jarring his no doubt bruised ribs. It doesn’t do much for his nausea either and he swallows with a grimace as the empty contents of his stomach make a second bid to present themselves.

“Easy there, easy!” Klaus murmurs, hands brushing over his shoulders and down his sides gently as he helps Diego right himself again.

“Don’t wanna get turfed out.” Diego manages, tongue moving thickly in his mouth. He shakes his head, trying and failing to clear it, pointing at the wall where he keeps a medical kit, one of the few things that he maintains.

“Prost!” Klaus exclaims gratefully, ensuring Diego is balancing of his own accord before shooting over to the box.

“So Al’s not a fan of the whole masked crusader thing either, huh?” Klaus continues nosily. Diego has no idea why he always feels the need to ask so many questions and is rummaging through the contents of the medical kit as loudly as possible.

“Doesn’t know. Only cares cause he thinks I’m fighting on someone else’s card. Next time it happens, I’m out.” Diego grunts, feels himself beginning to slide down the wall.

“Let’s get you DIY patched up then, huh? Let’s see if I can remember anything Pogo taught me...” Klaus hums, suddenly irritatingly close to his face again.

“Huh?” Diego blinks warily as a cold pack is pressed to his opposite eye. Through the opposite, he’s almost sure he can make out his baby brother Ben perched on the railing next to the door, feet jittering anxiously as he looks on.

“Down you go...down, boy! This disobedience is why you were never Number One, you know...”

He must’ve hit his head hard because he snorts at the poor attempt at a joke, only puts up a mild resistance before he allows Klaus to guide him down onto his back, heading resting on his pillow.

He closes his eyes briefly, allows himself a moment to recover as Klaus fusses over him. Just resting his eyes for a minute...

“He can sleep, Ben...yes I know what a concussion looks like and that’s an old myth! How come your nose is always in a book but you never know anything useful, huh?” Klaus mutters to himself with a shake of his head, presumably thinking that Diego is completely out of it.

Diego tries to suppress a grin as he listens to Klaus cut a strip of gauze before ripping up some medical tape. When he pressed the makeshift bandage to Diego’s forehead, his touch is so considerately gentle, running his thumbs around the edges to press it down, that Diego’s heart swoops in his chest.

“Would you shut up? He needs to rest!” Klaus hisses, shifting in his seat to gaze at Ben indignantly, “So what if he can’t hear me? I need a rest from the sound of your gums flapping...”

Diego begins to drift off in earnest as Klaus hums quietly to himself, finds himself floating on the notes from a melody he can’t quite place. He must be about to slip into a deeper sleep when he trips back into brief consciousness, just in time to catch the tail end of Klaus’ bickering with Ben.

“There’s a reason they call you the Horror you know, and it’s got nothing to do with the tentacles! He doesn’t need to go to the hospital...I can do the stitches...”

“WHAT!” Diego bolts upright, nearly head butting Klaus in the process.

“No, no, no! I mean - look at me Diego, try to lay back and relax, okay...” Klaus intones, doing his best to sound calming as Diego’s alarmed gaze immediately drops to the items on the table.

The silver needle and medical thread glint malevolently in the lamp light.

Diego opens his mouth to tell Klaus to get that thing the fuck away from him, but all that comes out is a sharp shriek of terror. He swoons and Klaus catches him like some pathetic damsel in distress and it’s well and truly lights out, Diego.

He fights against it, desperately trying to rouse himself, eyes straining to take in more than the muted greys of the light swimming before his vision. His body has other ideas after 24 hours of trauma and no proper rest.

“You’re safe, Diego. Sleep, okay? Sssh...” He could swear he hears Klaus whispers and it may as well have been Allison on her rumour bullshit because with his next exhale, Diego is dead to the world.

*

When he comes to, Diego can’t see Ben like he could in his delirious haze but he knows he’s there because Klaus is arguing quietly with him as he rummages around in the kitchen.

“Ssh, you’ll wake him up!”

“K-Klaus?” Diego stutters groggily, dragging himself upright.

“Shit, thanks a lot, asshole!” Klaus hisses to nothing before turning sweetly to his incapacitated sibling, “You okay, Diego? No, no, no, don’t get up...it’s still early...”

Diego is already swinging his legs over the side, glancing at the clock blearily before slowly registered that it’s nearly dawn.

He still feels a little cloudy around the edges, but it’s a million times better than he did. Klaus on the other hand, for his concerned tone and expression, looks as if he were ready to jump out the window.

“Did you stay all night?” He asks, eyebrow raising in surprise as he glances up at Diego.

“Aahhh...a little longer than that...” Klaus mused vaguely, large green eyes drifting innocently to the date on the clock as Diego’s dark, alarmed ones do.

“You let me sleep all day!” Diego shouts angrily. If he didn’t show up for work today, he can pack his bags right now!

Before he can even contemplating getting to his feet, Klaus is there again, pushing him back down with his anxious flapping hands and irritatingly strong gangly limbs.

“You needed the rest...” Klaus trails off, chewing on his lip so awkwardly that Diego is shocked he doesn’t break the skin.

“I can’t lose my job, Klaus...” Diego begins, feeling his temper begin to rise with the dull headache that is beginning to form like a storm cloud. Just because Klaus doesn’t understand responsibility, what it means to be a sober, functioning adult who has to make their way in the world...

“I know that, so I covered it, okay?” Klaus interrupts with a roll of his eyes and now it’s Diego’s turn to look stupid as he picks his jaw up off the floor.

“You...what?” He’s barely able to stop himself from spluttering as he looks at Klaus like he can see Ben and a thousand other malevolent spirits bursting out the sides of his skull.

“What, you think I don’t know how to use detergent? You’re not the only one who’s ever worked in cleaning, Diego, though admittedly my job was more like a casual position...” Klaus scoffs, suddenly flicking the dirt out from under his nails like it’s the most important task in the world.

“Go on.” Diego encourages, trying and failing to suppress the grin slowly forming on his face.

“Fine! I did the floors, which you did a terrible job of yesterday by the way...head injuries and work place productivity are clearly not compatible!” Klaus laughs to himself as Diego looks at him with poorly concealed bewilderment, “Then the floors and the toilets and Al’s office...lovely man...he was really worried about you after yesterday.”

“Really?” Now Diego knows he must be dreaming.

“Uh, yeah! When he told me about that kid calling you a...you know...” Klaus wrinkles his nose in disgust, “I offered to use him as a toilet brush but he shockingly didn’t take me up on my disciplinary offering but he is throwing that kid out so...”

“Klaus...” Diego begins as Klaus cheerily flashes his goodbye tattoo, feeling something alarmingly like sentimentality beginning to well up in his chest.

“Yes I did a good job and yes your job is safe even though I know Al totally wanted to hire me because I actually took the time to have a conversation with him...” Klaus takes a big breath, ploughing in before Diego can interrupt, shaking his finger in mock reprimand, “But he said your ass better be back tomorrow and no more street fights, young man!”

The silence that finally falls between them isn’t as uncomfortable as it should be. Diego takes it when Klaus forces him to lay back down again, propping himself up on his elbows as he watches his brother take better care of him than he ever had himself.

“You didn’t have to do all this...” Diego begins again.

“Oh I know.” Klaus replies with a dismissive wave of his hands, “If Ben wasn’t such a bleeding heart, I would’ve left you hours ago, but the poor dear just couldn’t cope!” 

Diego catches Klaus’ wrist before he can move away again.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is...thank you...Ben.” Diego manages finally, loosening his grip as he looks up at Klaus. 

“Uh...Ben says... you’re welcome and let’s all talk this out in a group circle jerk sometime...” Klaus replies, ruining the almost tender moment as is his gift. 

“Gross and unnecessary.” Diego groans as Klaus winks at him and blows him an air kiss.

“Anywho, gotta scoot and see a man about...a dog...” Klaus calls as he scampers towards the window.

Diego watched him as he goes, ignoring the irritatingly painful thud in his chest. He tells himself it’s just the side affects of the concussion, that it has nothing to do with the bone-deep ache within his bones that seems surfaced ever since Klaus left him and their siblings behind at the Academy, whenever Klaus leaves him (again).

The Seance must sense something amiss because without even turning back, spinning gracefully to face him, his ridiculous coat flapping around him as he goes.

“Take care of yourself, and don’t be late tomorrow!” Klaus demands, slightly too fondly as he flashes his teeth prettily. 

“You too, man.” Diego ducks his head briefly, willing himself not to be overly emotional in his over sensitive state as Klaus nods back before hoisting himself through the window. 

“On too many head shots...you’re getting soft.” He chides himself lightly, arms pillowing his head as he closes his eyes again, clinging to the faint scent of Klaus on his pillow without even registering it as he dozes off again.

*

“Low blow, man.” Ben intones as Klaus drags himself to his feet.

“Ex-squeeze me?” Klaus asks blankly, dusting himself off lightly before glancing at his invisible brother beside him.

“We’re going to do this here, huh?” Ben asks, folding his arms as Klaus plants his hands on his hips.

“What more do you want from me, Ben?” Klaus groans as he stretches, his spine popping with a delicious crack as he sighs, “I slept on a prison cot bed that was less comfortable than literal concrete, with no covers might I add because someone is a hog...worked a hard day’s labour, and still made for a kick ass nurse maid!”

“As proud as I am of everything you’ve done for Diego, now and every other time he messes up, I’m talking about using me as your emotional scape goat when you didn’t get to bail before he woke up! Not cool, man.” Ben says.

“Blow me.” Klaus hisses, spinning on his heel to storm off before sighing as he finds Ben already right in front of him, eyebrows cocked in amusement.

“I’m sorry, okay, but it’s not like you weren’t involved!” Klaus retaliates, jabbing a finger accusatorially, “If you didn’t spy on him every night like the creeper little stalker that you are, how would I have known when to show up, huh?” 

“Uh-huh. So are you going to tell him about any of it?” Ben presses.

“Not following....” Klaus hums brattily, laughing when Ben’s hand passes through him in an attempt to slap him in the face.

“Let me spell it out then. What are you going to eat this week?” Ben asks, concern evident in his voice as Klaus twirls his vodka bottle thoughtfully.

“Liquid diet? Never used those food stamps anyway.” Klaus grins charmingly as he takes another swig.

“And the exact same police scanner magically appearing on his counter again?” Ben presses in exasperation.

“He hit his head pretty hard, Ben! For all he knows, he never lost it in the first place.” Klaus scoffs with a dismissive roll of his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently like he’s hoping this lecture will get to the point some this century.

“What if he doesn’t forget, Klaus? What if he remembers the scanner was missing, his fridge was completely empty that day?” Ben prompts, pinching his nose in frustration at having to lead his perfectly intelligent, if delusional brother, to the obvious heart of the issue.

When Klaus stares at him with all the emotional ineptitude of the token village idiot, Ben explodes. He’s not a violent person, but he knows he would have tentacles spitting out of his chest to pick his brother up and (gently) shake some sense into him, or more likely, squeeze him with the hardest hug he could manage.

“What are you going to tell him next time you see him, you idiot!” Ben shouts at him.

“I’ll stay away.” Klaus knows it’s a lie even as the words fall from his lips. 

“Like every other time before...”Ben sighs too sadly, dropping his folded arms to his side as he shakes his head at his brother’s stubbornness.

“The truth!” Klaus howls in frustration, “That I was being a good brother...”

“What about the rest of the truth?” 

“Next time, Ben, okay? I promise. I’ll confess my undying devotion to the only one of my adopted siblings who still gives a shit about me!” Klaus cries, earning himself startled stares from people walking across the street.

“This would be so much easier if I was genuinely insane.” Klaus groans, dropping to sit on the nearby stoop before cradling his tired head in his hands.

He grins to himself, a bittersweet shard of a smile as he feels Ben press into his side faintly, the gentle tingle of energy that he knows without looking is arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Convening with spirits doesn’t make you insane...just slightly crazy!” Ben laughs as Klaus pretends to shove him off, “You are a good brother and friend and despite his jokes, Diego be lucky to have you...you deserve more and so does he, okay?”

“If our father was as good at giving pep talks as you are, we’d all still be a team.” Klaus sniffles, unable to keep the tremble out of his voice, keeping his head down as a stray, warm tear slips out his his eyes.

“We are a team. I’m here for you.” Ben grins as Klaus glances at him fondly from beneath his lashes, offering his fist to bump.

“Just about as effective a unit as ever.” Klaus mirrors his actions and giggles to himself as their hands pass through each other.

“Promise me you’ll think about telling him?” Ben asks softly as Klaus stands.

“Next time.” Klaus raises his palm to swear, scout style and as Ben stares at the ‘hello’ inked into his skin, he hopes against hope for the best for both his bone headed, stubborn, big-heated brothers.

Diego eventually slips up and Klaus will be there for him, just like Diego is always there to pick Klaus up when he gets low.

There’s always a next time...


End file.
